With the Swans
by HPPH15
Summary: He's not free here. But maybe he'll be free elsewhere.


**Hello readers. This is yet another one-shot, as I have found that I lean towards writing them as opposed to chapter-fics. No idea why. But go on, you obviously don****'****t really want to know about my tendencies to write one-shots. Just read.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything and if I or you think so, we both need to be admitted to mental hospitals. Of course, they belong to JK Rowling.**

Draco leaned his head against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes, forgetting the Dementors sailing past his cell and the cries of despair in the distance.

When the last candle had been blown out and all was quiet, Draco would gather his white coat and his young self would tiptoe down the spiralling marble staircases, slipping out into the cold evening unnoticed.

There was a lake near their Manor in Wiltshire. He would cross the quaint little bridge to the other side and sit on the soft green banks facing the water. Each night, the street lamps nearby would light up the lake with specks of silver and the moon's reflection could be seen in its ink black waters. But there were also swans.

That's why he would come. Gliding gracefully across the lake bathed in the glow of moonlight, were swans. Each was pure white, and their long necks were curved and elegant. The black feathers near their beaks were their tiaras and they were royalty moving in a slow dance to the wind's soft tune.

And when the night wore on, the swans would come to the final note of their dance. They would bow their heads, an entourage of royalty curtsying after their last step. Then the swans would extend snow white wings, feathers arranged in perfection, and fly off to the land afar. He would watch them in mesmerisation as water was shed from wing as diamonds that glittered in the air.

Draco felt like he could fly with them. Like he could join those flawless creatures in the velvet of the night sky and feel the breeze of the evening against his face.

Like he was free.

And then as the last swan flew out of sight, the moment was gone. His own secret taste of what it was like to live his life without a care in the world.

The night seemed restless as Draco tiptoed out to the lake once more. He crossed the lamplit bridge towards the tree he always sat under. But there was already someone there. A man sat where he usually was, face hidden by a large hat. Draco sat under another swaying willow, long, dipping leaves veiling himself. Perhaps it was just someone else who admired the swans.

And there they were. The swans glided came into view as they always did, but there was something that was not quite right. Maybe it was just that Draco was a bit peeved that he couldn't take his normal seat. Maybe.

Then something peculiar happened. The swans swam closer than they had ever done, almost feathers touching the banks. It was thrilling, to be so close to something so innocent and magnificent.

But then the masked man stood and swiftly walked until he reached the water lapping against the shore.

Draco's eyes widened.

In his hand was a thick rope, which was brutally thrown around a swan's neck, dragging it ashore as its companions darted away in panic. The man walked back with the swan struggling helplessly and pulled a cage out from within the bushes that lined the banks. And just like that, it was caged.

Caged.

Trapped.

Draco doubted it would ever fly again.

Draco opened his eyes again. Perhaps this was him. Trapped in a lonely cell in Azkaban, convicted of untold crimes and surely because he had the Mark. He could say he was glad that he had seen the swans and their flights of freedom in his childhood to serve as a highlight in this life.

Yes, he could say he was caged in here for the next three years as told in his sentence, but that was a long time. Perhaps this was his resting place, where he would find comfort and peace in another world.

Indeed, he was locked up in body here, in a place where he might not have desired to have been in last breath but his mind was not locked up at all. He was free to roam in his mind's eye.

Where he could fly with the swans.

**Finis. Or is it fino, finis, finit, finimus, finitis, finent. Whatever. I meant finish. Rate and review, tell me what****'****s good or bad. Constructive criticism, as always, is great. Thanks! ~HPPH15**


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